


in a different world (in the here and now)

by whiplash



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: "Songs About Texas", Episode Tag, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:49:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: In another world Michael could have loved her, could have bleed himself dry for her, and maybe in that world he could have made her love him back, just a little, but in the here and now…





	in a different world (in the here and now)

**Author's Note:**

> Michael/Alex is my main ship, but in this particular story their cosmic love will have to stay in the background, with the main focus on the _"here and now"_ , which is to say on Michael and Maria as their story play out that evening in the tavern and the desert.

Maria DeLuca has a wicked tongue and a wicked smile yet nothing but kindness in her eyes. And those eyes, so bright and fierce, they could pull a man in and drag him down. Could hold him forever in their thrall. Michael imagines that someone could cut themselves wide open on her sharp edges and then, caught in her eyes, all but bleed out before they even noticed. He imagines people must have, and he imagines that in a different world, a world where he hadn’t fallen for Alex first, he might have been one of them.

As it is, in the world that’s here and now, Michael drinks cheap whiskey as he watches Maria stomp her way up on the scene of the Mineshaft Tavern, her hips swaying and her earrings catching and reflecting the light from the lamps. Her voice fills the room, and it fills his head, and it’s not the silence that he’d once found with Alex, but it’s still kind of peaceful. Still beautiful and rare, and he thinks that maybe he could love her for that alone. 

“Dance with me, Mikey,” Liz orders, and even though he grumbles at the nickname he doesn’t even think of refusing her. Dancing to Maria’s voice, it feels right, just like Maria’s hand brushing through his hair feels right, and when he turns towards her, like a moth to her flame, then that feels right too. 

When the music dies, and she leaves, he doesn’t think twice before setting his drink aside to follow her. He finds her by the truck, a blanket over her shoulders, and he’s not cold, but he still wants to crawl close to her and share its warmth. Wants to burrow his face in her hair and inhale her scent. Wants to be surrounded by her, and lose himself in her, in every way possible. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, and he finds some excuse, just like he always finds some excuse. 

For all his protests to his siblings, lying has always been second nature to him. 

She lights a cigarette, and he hesitates at the flickering light and the thick stench of smoke – or more accurately, at the phantom scent of burnt flesh and sharp pain – but the hesitation only lasts for a heartbeat. Just for the quickest of heartbeats really, and then he’s following her again, away from the lights and the laughter, and into the dark. She leads the way, and he stumbles after, and here and now he’s not afraid, not of her and not of the dark. 

The sky’s lit with stars and he wonders if maybe, when they stop, they could sit under those stars, sharing those blankets and the warmth, and if they do then maybe he could also tell her all about them. It’s right there on the tip of his tongue – _let’s stop, look up at the sky, see there, Ursa Major_ – but the moment never feels right and so they keep wandering, ‘round and ‘round, until irritation creeps into her voice. He looks up then, up at the sky, but even before he’s opened his mouth, she scoffs at him. 

“Please,” she says, voice dripping with exasperation, “tell me you’re not trying to navigate by the stars?” 

Maybe it should hurt, but it doesn’t. Or maybe it does, only he’s stopped paying attention to the little hurts. (Maybe this is one of the many ways he could bleed out slowly.) It hardly matters. It’s a door closed, is all, or at least so he tells himself, pushing the hope aside. When he turns back to her he matches her in tone, gesturing wide with his arms. 

“Just hoping a meteorite will strike me down,” he explains, then waits for a beat before adding; “…and end my suffering.” 

It’s tit for tat, a child’s response, and she counters with more of the same. 

Her tongue is wicked, has always been wicked, and now’s no different. She tears at him, and this is where he always either lashes out or leaves, where fight or flight kicks in, only this time… this time, in the here and in the now, Michael surges forward instead, and he’s tasting her lip-gloss before he even realizes that they’re kissing. It’s another moment or two before he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t be kissing her. Before he realizes that this might all have been in his head, nothing more than make-belief and star dreams, and so he pushes her away just as fast as he’d pulled her close. 

“I just needed some quiet,” he lies, only it’s not a lie, because he does crave the quiet, only she can’t give him that, only Alex can, only Alex ever could- 

And then her hands are on his face and she’s pulling him in and dragging him to her and this time he gets that they’re kissing, and maybe not just kissing, and her hands are just as desperate as his and he’s lost but that’s alright. 

It feels right. 

*** 

“Here’s the deal,” she says. “This never happened. Tell no one.” 

And she’s fierce and beautiful and in another world Michael could have loved her, could have bleed himself dry for her, and maybe in that world he could have made her love him back, just a little, but in the here and now… 

“It’ll never happen again,” Maria DeLuca finishes, steel in her voice. 

…they’re barely even friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love - especially when you're new to the fandom <3


End file.
